With my poker stare still locked on her, I moved to her row past Beyer. “You know that redheaded giant of a man who’s usually posted out there at the guard station, Reggie Bailey?”
From my peripheral vision, I saw the others mimicking her reluctant nod.
I rested my palms on the vacant area of her desk and leaned in. “Mr. Bailey isn’t at his post. After he shot at me a few minutes ago—I’m sure you all heard that in here—he went to get men to come back here to kill all of you.”
It was as big a lie as I’d ever told, but the twitch in her eye confirmed that it was the right bluff. “Mr. Montague is going to have you killed because of what he suspects you know about him puncturing the steel barriers and flooding the Under. I’m sure that each of you are beginning to reach conclusions about what’s about to happen. Jim Nelson wrote letters stating as much.”
I stepped back to observe the rest of the room. There was a weird pause for a couple of seconds as they silently looked at each other’s faces and then scrambled past us for the door like frightened cattle in a lightning storm. All that was left was the mechanical click and stir of the room’s equipment calculating its most recent request.
I followed them to the bassel ferry platform, pleased to see that Janae had had the wherewithal to activate the ascension lever to prevent anyone other than Sawyer from boarding. The sky ferry swayed safely ten feet above the yelling mob of white-clothed Babbage operators below.
“Kip, what did you do?” Janae yelled down to me from the open bassel door.
Instead of answering, I took out the pistol, aimed it behind me at the empty corridor, and fired. The blast was loud but not as painful as before due to the distance of the shot. The ferry continued to squeak as it swayed, but those on the landing crouched in fearful silence.
“All right, here’s what we’re going to do,” I announced at the top of my voice. “You’re not getting on the bassel right now.”
The crowd parted as I approached the landing.
Sawyer or Janae started the descent of the ferry.
“The young lady, the tink, and I have some unfinished business up top. Once we make it up there, we’ll send the sky ferry back down to you.”
Beyer stepped forward. “Am I to accompany you to the mansion?”
I put the gun away. “No, I need you for something else.”
The bassel came to a slow stop, and I entered. Retrieving the ledgers from under the seat, I returned to the opened sliding door. “Here,” I said, handing the notebooks to Beyer. “Everything’s explained in the front of these six books.”
The group flocked around for a better look at what I’d passed to him.
“Take those directly to Police Chief Ormond—no stops, and don’t give them to anyone but him. He’ll know what to do. When you get to street level, activate the bassel so it will return to us.”
“Who do I tell Chief Ormond sent me?”
“My name is Detective T. H. Kipsey.” I paused and then added before sliding the door shut, “Badge number 18-93.”
Thirty
“Kip, what on Earth did you do back there?” Janae asked. She interlocked her arm in Sawyer’s to balance from the sway of the climbing bassel.
“Those ledgers are too important to take any chances with. I needed to hand them off just in case . . .”
“In case of what?” she blurted.
“In case . . .” I searched for a pleasant answer but found nothing. “In case we don’t make it.”
I shifted the subject. “Mr. Sawyer, what power does Montague have over you?”
He avoided my eyes as he sighed heavily.
When an answer didn’t come willingly, I prodded, “How does he force a man with a brilliant mind like yours to do his bidding? You obviously know his plans.”
“Kip,” Janae chided until Sawyer raised his hand.
“No, he’s right, my dear,” he said, his cherub face furrowed in shame. “It’s a valid question.” He bit the knuckle of his index finger. “I didn’t want to do it. It’s just that I had to do what Mr. Montague said.” He stared at his shoes. “I didn’t have a choice . . . that is . . . until now, until you came. He’s had me under lock and key for years up here, every move I make under the watchful eyes of his roughies. There was never a way to fight back.”
I leaned in. “But couldn’t you build things that would short out or fail when he tried to use them?”
He hesitated. “He said he found Marjorie, my daughter, where she was hiding in New York. He threatened that if I didn’t do everything he wanted, he’d send men to abduct her from her girls’ home. He told me that I wouldn’t be the first tink he’d banished to the Under and that he’d make sure she ended up down there too. But now, I can redeem myself for all I’ve done and get a message to her to flee the city.”
Janae looked as if she was about to throw up at this, and I knew she was thinking of her slain mother and father.
“That’s where you’re from, New York City?” I asked, wanting to redirect the conversation from Montague-banished tinks.
“Yes, until another tink, a man as evil as Mr. Montague himself, framed me for murder. A New Jersey tink named Edison killed a man named Dr. Steele who boarded at the same location I did in 1880. He made it look like I did it.”
“I’ve heard of Edison, but why would he frame you?” Janae asked.
“So he could take credit for my work. I had experienced some amazing breakthroughs with incandescent light and was on the verge of signing a contract with the Westinghouse Company. Everything happened so quickly, and I fled town. Since Addleton Heights isn’t technically a part of the north or south, I ended up here. That was nearly twenty years or so ago.”
Janae disengaged her arm from his and turned to face him. “Go on.”
“Shortly after I arrived, there was an advertisement in the Addleton Gazette for a think tank that Mr. Montague was forming. It was an all-call for tinks to study brainwaves, to explore the ability to harness thought energy into machines. I arrived here to discover that he wanted to walk again. He’d concluded that by channeling thought electricity into devices attached to his legs, he would be mobile again.”
“But his legs are paralyzed, right?” I asked.
“Yes, but his mind isn’t,” Sawyer answered with enthusiasm. “All my work on incandescent light is mere crumbs from the table compared to the breakthroughs in BMA—Brainwave Motor Adaptation. BMA, of course, served as the cornerstone of all the discoveries in cognitive transplant science and that of full cerebral transference—not a copy, mind you, but actual mental conveyance.”
He sighed. “I’ve pleaded with Mr. Montague to allow me to share these marvelous findings in medical journals, but he wouldn’t have it, claiming the world hasn’t earned the right to live past its appointed time.”
He paused and scratched his head. “In the interest of full disclosure, I can’t take credit for all of this. Much of what I discovered came from reverse engineering a wearable contraption that was there when I arrived, an odd pair of goggles. They weren’t in working order, but the technology that I was able to extract from it was . . . revolutionary,” he said, lost in a memory. When his eyes met mine, he continued, “It became the foundation for everything we did.”
I looked across at Janae and wondered what was racing through her mind.
Finally, she spoke. “Did you . . . did you ever work with a man named Rodger Gardiner?”
Sawyer massaged his pronounced Adams apple for a second. “The name doesn’t register with me, but Mr. Montague has kept me isolated from nearly everyone for about a decade or so. He trapped me up here upon discovering that I was a wanted man in New York. This Gardiner, is he a tink?”
She gazed at me for approval.
I nodded, wondering if she’d let him in on her secret.
She hesitated a moment and then offered, “I think he may have been the tink responsible for the goggles. I have a working pair in the city.”
He was genui
nely impressed. “I’d love to meet Mr. Gardiner.” He motioned with his free hand around the cabin. “When all of this is over, of course.”
“He’s dead,” she said sharply. “Dead for a while, in fact.”
It was obvious Sawyer didn’t know how to respond to her bluntness.
I subtly shook my head, indicating for him to move to another subject.
In a cheery voice, he said, “Speaking of breakthrough devices, that was quite a fine piece of tinkware that you had back there, Miss Nelson. Mind if I take a look?”
The request had the desired effect, and Janae fumbled with delight to snatch Rodger from the black bag on her lap. She presented it and said, “It’s the second version. The first one had to be wound for about three minutes and only displaced about half the charge.”
For the remainder of the sky ferry’s ascent, the two of them babbled about the science of shocking a person without killing them. Not surprisingly, Janae conveniently left out what had become of Hennemann.
I closed my eyes and tried to mentally prepare for what we were about to encounter.
As the bassel emerged from the shaft of the compound, I drew both pistols. Part of me expected to see every available Charon patrol skiff lined up to greet us, but the courtyard was just as empty as before.
I caught myself peering down at the topiaries. Olsen had said the bushes served as camouflage for the guns hidden inside, guns powerful enough to blast the sky ferry off the cable.
The bassel slowed to a stop. I squinted to see any trace of footprints in the snow, but there was nothing. The hydrogen bladders high above the compound threw shadows across the courtyard. Never in my life had a more peaceable scene made me so anxious.
The only explanation I could devise for why there was no one waiting for us was that Montague had already initiated the mechanicals’ descent.
“Kip, come on,” Janae said, outside on the bassel landing.
I pulled the lever down and exited the carrier. A few seconds later, the gears of the engine engaged, and the craft began its downward journey.
“Godspeed, Mr. Beyer,” I whispered, hoping he’d carry out his duty for me.
Each of us walked in slow spirals, scanning the area as we moved.
Feeling the need to demonstrate some form of command, I said, “Both of you, stick close. Montague knows I’m here, since he nearly killed me with that mechanical down there.”
“Mr. Sawyer, you know how he thinks,” Janae added. “What’s his plan here? Where would he be hiding?”
His voice was even, but in a hushed tone. “Alton Montague hides from no one. Either he’s watching us right now, waiting for the exact moment he can kill us all at once, or . . .”
“Or what?” Janae asked.
“Or he’s already gone to the secured chamber and begun his attack on the Under and we’re too late,” Sawyer said.
“Or maybe not,” I offered. I stepped up with an authoritative gesture, and the other two fell in behind me. “We’re the only ones on Addleton Heights aware of his plan who will oppose it, and he knows this.” We made a straight path to the main door fifty yards away. “Given the chance, I suspect he’ll want to find out what we know and maybe even gloat.”
“And then kill us?” Janae asked.
“Yes, and then kill us,” I admitted.
“Sounds awful,” she said.
“Yeah, well, I’m open to suggestions,” I responded as I stepped onto the porch.
“If that’s accurate,” Sawyer interjected, “one or both of you can keep him distracted with talk while I head up to the control chamber.”
“Well, Janae, you did say you wanted to have a chat with the old man.”
“Not funny, Kip. Not funny.”
I handed her Hennemann’s pistol. “You said you were a good shot. Take this in case the conversation gets a little off. I’m a dreadful shot. I barely made my marks at the academy.”
She got in line behind me as I gripped the doorknob. Sawyer filed in behind her. It was unspoken, but we all knew his was the most important life out of the three of us. It was up to him to stop the mechanicals.
I paused as the rational part of my mind, the part that tries to keep me alive every day, rose to the surface of my consciousness. It demanded to understand exactly why I hadn’t taken one of the two airship tickets to Connecticut. Why had I abandoned the idea of finding a forger in Chinatown instead of coming up here? I felt like we were breaking into the gates of Hell, and that can never be a good idea, even on the Devil’s day off.
My heart ran like a racehorse, flooding my veins with adrenaline as I twisted the knob and allowed the door to creak open.
“What do you see?” Janae whispered impatiently.
“Nothing, just like we left it,” I answered as we crept into the massive foyer. “All right, Mr. Sawyer, you’re up. What’s the quickest way to the control tower?”
“There’s a hallway opposite the study we were in the other night.”
As we ascended the red velvet staircase, I whispered, “Janae, let him get in between us. I’ll lead, and you walk with your back to him, watching for anyone coming up behind us.”
“Got it.” She seemed to be handling this better than Sawyer and me.
Through the door was a metal service hallway that stretched sixty feet or so.
“Second door,” Sawyer said, pointing over my shoulder.
Knowing we were safely alone in the corridor, we picked up the pace.
Seconds later, I grabbed the knob. “It’s locked. Janae, use your thing, that Hellowd’ere gadget, to open this.”
We traded places, and she passed the gun back to me. Her lockpicking tinkware went to work on the metal door, but then the grinding sound came to an abrupt stop.
“Give me a second, something’s not right. It’s not finished.” She jiggled the doorknob a bit and then popped the device off for inspection. “Something’s wrong with it.”
She feverishly wound the small handle and reattached it. She pushed the button on the device.
Nothing happened.
“Sawyer, is this the only way?” I asked. We were in a perfect spot for an ambush, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention.
“Shut up, Kip,” Janae grumbled. “I’m trying here.”
I could tell he was afraid to answer, so he just nodded where she couldn’t see him.
“Uggghhh! Why isn’t this working?” she said through gritted teeth.
“Let me pick it the conventional way, with my tools.”
“You can’t. The drill bit destroys the hardware, remember? There’s nothing left for you to pick. It drilled halfway and stopped.” She struck the mechanism.
Sighing loudly, I asked, “So, now what? I can’t shoot this lock like the other one. There’s not enough room, we’re too close. Not only that, the ricochet off these metal walls would make this area a death trap.” I paced, releasing pent-up energy.
“I know, I know. Just give me a minute to fix it!”
I got the idea she was more embarrassed about the tinkware failing in front of Sawyer than the fact we were losing time—valuable time.
“I know another way,” Sawyer said slowly, as if working out a calculation.
“You just told me this was the only way to the control tower.”
“True, but there’s another way we can get through this door,” he said as he ran down the hallway from where we’d come.
Janae and I exchanged dumb looks. She shrugged, and then both of us followed him.
Thirty-One
Sawyer was fidgeting with what I’d come to refer to as the “headless statue” when Janae and I made it back to the staircase landing. As I descended the red velvet stairs behind her, the master tink opened the torso of the powered suit with a hinge at the bottom. I tried to imagine Alton Montague strutting around in it but couldn’t picture him free of his steam chair.
I thought Sawyer was working to remove one of the oversized limbs from it to use as a mak
eshift battering ram against the locked door. I couldn’t have been more wrong than if I’d asked a blind barber if he thought I needed a haircut.
“Detective Kipsey, come get inside!” he called out with a bit more zeal than I was comfortable with. “You can punch through the door in this as easy as bursting a soap bubble.”
Apprehensive but trying to hide it, I reached the bottom of the stairs. “It looks heavy. How do I move it?”
Janae rushed to his side and did her best to peek inside to view the internal wires and cogs. It was the two tinks and the tag-along detective again.
Sawyer held up a circle of gold that looked like half a hatband. “You wear this on the back of your head, then stick this suction cup to your right temple, and eureka!”
Suspicious of turning the mind the Good Lord gave me into a poached egg, I asked, “This is more of that brainwave stuff, right?” I didn’t want to appear yellow in front of Janae, so I forced myself to take a few steps toward it. Thinking of my recent experience with the Re-Viewer, I said, “I’ve used brainwave devices before, and they made me dizzy. What effects might this have?”
Sawyer gently tapped a tink tool in his open palm. “Well, the walking suit is powerful. It can outrun a horse on an open track, though I don’t recommend a first-time wearer try anything that extreme. If you spin around in it for too long, I guess that would make you a little seasick, but other than that—”
“That’s not what I mean. Does wearing it cause thought damage or anything?”
He let out a nervous chuckle. “Oh, nothing of the sort. Mr. Montague has operated this prototype countless times. Remember how I told you about him wanting to walk again? This is what I came up with, though it’s much more powerful than just taking a stroll around the gardens.”
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